Recently
on one of the many lists I am on the subject of going back and reading your own
published work came up. The theory, advanced by a few folks, was that figuring
out what had worked before would allow you to be a better writer in terms of
sales in the future. For me, the theory does not work because many of my
published pieces read to me now like I never wrote them. I have changed massively
as a writer and think, in large part, it has happened due to my illness as well
as what has happened to Sandi the last several years. I have serious doubt at
this point whether I can ever write fiction again that would sell in a market
outside of self publishing.
While there
are many stories I no longer really remember writing, my story “By The Light Of
The Moon” found in the Carpathian
Shadows Volume 2 anthology is an exception to that. I remember this one
vividly.
The
premise by those in charge of the anthology was simple--- Deep in Transylvania
in the Carpathian Mountains the castle of Lord John Erdely is a modern day
tourist destination. A freak storm forces a group of tourists to take shelter
at the castle where it soon becomes clear the ancient legend may have a modern
day connection.
While
thinking about the possibilities, an image came to mind which I could not get
out of my head. The image was in my dreams as well as my waking hours when I worked and did other
things. That image became part of the ending of a story that blends elements of
mystery, horror, and fantasy into a tale that most have found to be very good.
If you are
intrigued by the sample below ordering is easy. Available in print and e-book
forms at the publisher, Amazon, and elsewhere it is easily to pick up in both
print and e-book formats. I also have a few print copies left which means you
can order an autographed print copy of Carpathian Shadows Volume 2 direct
from me for the low price of ten dollars which includes media rate postage.
I hope you
take a chance on the book…
“By The
Light Of The Moon...”
"Is he here?"
"Yes, Commander."
"How is he?"
What he was asking was whether or
not the suspect had made it alive into his station. He should have but
sometimes accidents happened in the field. The young officer stepped a little
ways into the room. New to his job, he was working hard to impress, which is
why the Commander had chosen him. Things had to be contained, and he knew he
could keep the man, more like a boy at twenty, in line.
"Typical American." The
young officer couldn't keep the scorn out of his voice, "Very emotional.
Fits of screaming and crying when we placed the cuffs on him. He's sitting
quietly in Interrogation 4 now."
"Good. That will be all."
The young man saluted, swiveled in
his black spit-polished boots, and strode confidently out of the office. The
Commander sat back and smiled to himself while he listened to the pleasurable
sound of the boots striking the floor fade away down the long hall. To be young
again and so sure of righteousness, of purpose. Not that it really mattered, as
fate ordained everything. His die was cast long ago, as was my own,
he thought, and the idea depressed him as it had the last few months.
He stood and stretched, feeling his spine pop before he
walked down the same hall. Unlike the young man before him who had turned right
so that he could pass the front desk and go back out on patrol, the Commander
turned left and, with a few steps, began to feel like the walls were closing in
on him. The truth was, they were as he journeyed deeper into the old section of
the garrison. This part had been built into the mountain long ago, and the
Commander secretly suspected that there had to be a tunnel from here up to the
castle far above. He suspected it but had never tried to find out because he
knew that in such matters, a lack of knowledge was safer than knowing the
truth….
ReplyDeleteI remember this story, Kevin, and have always felt it was one of your best.I hope to see some new stuff from you soon.
Thank you, Earl. You have a better chance of winning the lottery than seeing that happen. I think I am done.
ReplyDelete